Best Pisses Poems
A hot cup of tea greeting me—
first thing in the morning,
wife smiling unconditionally, xo!
hot water on tap, tsh…
neighbour’s doggy popping in to play,
“yap..yap..”
adding to the warmth,
a nice, steaming breakfast,
finishing the punch line of a poem—for a contest
colleagues in the department patting me on my new shirt,
boss on the phone, “good work, so and so!”
overhearing students chattering merrily—about my latest lecture
a brisk round of tick-tock table tennis,
back home for a sumptuous dinner
and chat with the family, “haha, cacka…packa.. he he”
dozing off while reading a book—zzz...
all these things do happen to me or anyone —
but not on the same day!
Actually, there may be water on tap—not hot
Or while petting, the neighbour’s puppy
pisses on your new shirt…etc!
It is after all my notion of a perfect day—a daydream!
***
Winner, Poetry Contest sponsored by Madison Demetros, December 5, 2017.
The wind did stir the thought in kind wanting - for if she knew my soul, just a spark
of it, I would be a rich man...
So long this ribbon of love that flows over the rocks of age and distant torment...
The gate keepers sit alone watching, waiting for the violators who dare not call
mundane theirs...
It is those shackles which bind misguided dreams that which make fertile ground for
the barkers at the door, for what else does one need to grey the vision and dull
delight?
You carry the scent of the well-traveled said the withered old man - I too know your
pain, that which comes from never knowing home - those of us who seek blindly
that which the world cannot give - home is not a place but a thought in time and
nothing more than a stop to rest your ambition...
Cry only for only those who cannot hear you, for it is selfish to do otherwise and
seek home in the gentle embraces of those that know you...
Be kind to those who would bite you, for in doing so it will bring light to a dark path...
AND
Always rejoice in life - it pisses them off and helps them to see the tragic flaw of
their diluted beliefs...
Waking to sight of day
The ironic disorientation
bedroom ceiling moviescreen
fades out this dreams last scene
left looking dumbfounded at tiles
Sunrays shine splintered through bent blinds
casting illuminous entities into otherwise
darker turf
Blanket tangles limbs and ambition tight
traversing body and shielding one eye
guarding it from the illuminites
I draw higher to seek shelter for both
Life's rumble manifests in murmurs
builds gradual, head clears
Horns, tires, voices-reality appears
The window sings soundtrack for urban noise
the horn annoys-the voices noise-the bird song annoys
noise annoys noise and pisses me off!!!
Mind flips modes from hazy wander lust
To more acute senses... tune and adjust
The morning is a step ahead
we will assimilate soon-just before noon
Rise ...casting off covers takes convincing
face the day begrudging and wincing
See...this Evening's eve was very good to me
I reveled in debauchery-I tore the town down, you see?
I went to the school of bar-red knocks--and rocked
bellied up brasher shot for shot
As the sour mash showed effects
I drunk dialed my entire roladex
Jameson ,my Irish ego, whispered dares to me
I performed them to shocked stares, you See?!
We gloated stumbling in revelry
This is the price for the tab last night....
The noise pounds into my mind
Street noise, chirp annoys, pound in my head noise
noise annoys noise
Sudden as thunder they crack in the night,
the boys in the lane leap over fences,
bottles crashing into stone walls,
and bullets whistle with echoing sound.
Political war,
Tribal war,
Gang war.
The boys fight with one another for the release of "the Don"
they rampage in the little town,
and round up all the informers.
Night comes alive,
doors open wide,
then suddenly,
"Lord, someone shot Sammi Joe!"
Lights bang!
and everyone rushes to look at the innocent one
lying peacefully in her pool of blood.
"Sammi Joe is dead!"
Her frightened mother yells.
Gunshots cracking in the night,
smashing glass,
and chiseling walls,
the burning night heat,
people scatter in the street.
Mr. Crow pisses his pants when the boys spot him as the informer
Dragged in the streets,
Crow's face flushed with the wall,
bullets puncture his head.
Further down the road,
the innocents grip tightly to their beds,
trembling,
wondering who will be next.
Bullets dances around the walls,
wailing heightens,
The massacre begins.
Blood washes the street,
dead bodies blocking the gate of the little town.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Does she want her very own vagina?
Yes, M to F trans girl...
Does she really really want a vagina?
It's like wanting to invert your fingers to
Make a mouth... No air could get through...
It wouldn't be able to speak...
But I'm sure you could get it to move
Well enough that you could lip sync...
Dress it up in drag and perform.... Not that
Vaginas perform... Welllllll... Never mind
Does he want to be a girl ?
Yes, M to F trans girl.
Does he really really want to be a girl?
To many, it's like saying you are gonna transition
To become a dog...
"So I've started barking... its gonna
take a while until I sound just like a dog...
I go to the plastic surgeon next week
To get my tail... I've started peeing on the
Bushes... Will you walk me on a leash?"
Fact: When babies are born, we decide if
they are a boy or a girl according to
Their genitalia... All of a sudden,
liberals tell people that genitalia
doesn't determine gender...
We are confusing the common person,
And at times, it even confuses me...
So if she looks like a man in a dress, why
Should she be offended if people confuse
Pronouns? If they knew her as a man her
Entire life, how can she expect them to
Transition with her when it took her this
Long just to confront the fact that she may
Be a girl, and she hasn't even tried on a dress
Yet...?
This is a song from their perspective.
I get that others don't understand. But
before you slaughter everyone who doesn't
comprehend, please look at the fact that
that you didn't understand it for a long time
either, it's why it took you so long to come out.
If this pisses you off, you've lost compassion
for many of the people who may be your allies
if you'd just know that our culture has trained
us incorrectly. It's not an attack or a threat,
This is the stress of change. Forgive us.
Mate I reckin’ I get some real ding bats visiting me
I’m fed up to the teeth and pissed off as can be
Streuth I swear that last one was one big big drama Queen
Her Type you’ll meet in the outback makin’ one hell of a scene
As she parades around with her la de dah airs and graces
Carrying on like a rat bag when a rattle snake she faces
Now it’s not my fault if a Koala goes and pisses on her dress
But she goes all ***** like and cries out in distress
And when she encounters a real beaut crocodile
She actually goes bonkers and acts all infantile
Now the blokes around her perve and act without restraint
Flies she cannot tolerate, the heat it makes her faint
I tell you mate that chooks a real flamin’ garbor
Especially when she takes a gander at big cockie on the floor
Yep mate I reckon’ on nature that sheila’s not real keen
And to top it off a real flamin’ arty-fartie drama Queen!
____________________
ding bat: slightly mad
ratbag: person who acts foolishly
beaut: good, great
bonkers: Of unsound mind
chook: slang woman
perve: look at with admiration
gander: look at
cockie: cockroach
sheila: woman
arty-fartie: type of put down of a person
When living in the Australia outback it is always a surprise when
A new comer visits and does somewhat over react when meeting unexpectedly for the first time some of our beloved Australia native animals, insects and reptiles
WAS IT WHAT IT WAS?
It was a time of temperance for a temper tamed
It was a time when, on beauty, was mournfulness and belligerence blamed
It was a time when a recently birthed masterpiece was smudged
It was a time for a liar to finally be judged
While a man jousted with a beast who would not be budged
A deity who held power in her hand with which that self-same deity gave the man a nudge
That nudge was to advise the man of meekness not to hold even the grain of a grudge
It was a time when torment meant meaningless embraces and unkind kisses
It was a time someone with more insight than I intentionally misses
As God and Satan are both taking pisses
While the Pope put the pious in a confessional booth bastardized by all the sacrilegiously self-possessed
Sinners all and all sinners self-confessed
As I was sent by Satan his most sordid and grievous guest
A woman who suckled at the breast of duplicity
A lady lacking a scintilla of pity
It was a time when that woman drained me of blood drop by dreary drop
It was a time when I wished time would stop
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…~free cee!~
W
Time crawls by, as if determined to torture me in this state. Why won’t it go by faster? I want to get away from here. Away from this world.
Have you ever had the strong desire to just…go outside at midnight, and walk around? Happens to me all the time. Night is my favourite time. I can actually think when it’s dark. My thoughts aren’t jumbled up, they're actually faster.
Life…can be annoying. So many people to make fun of you. Even if they don’t say it out loud. Just the way they act or look at you. It hurts. I’ve been bullied since I was in 5th grade. Picked on, shoved, and made fun of. You know what? LOOK AT ME NOW. All that bullying, the constant attacks on my already fragile esteem, look at who it’s made me. Emotional, likeable, versatile and dynamic. Without all of that, I wouldn’t be who I am. So thank you. You’ve effectively made a guy who HAS A HEART AND SOUL.
But who knows what’s going on with me? Over the years it’s added up. Now for unapparent reasons at random times I get SO depressed that I don’t want to be ‘here’ anymore. I just want to move on, get out of this life. Start a new one…you thought I was talking about killing myself? No. I’m not like that. Anymore. At least I think I’m not…
What I REALLY hate is being called ‘emo.’ My sister calls me Goth. She doesn’t even know what that means! Anyway, emo. WHY?! Do I look emo to you?! Maybe I do. And you know how many people look at me as if they're thinking “oh, he’s emo. He cuts himself and cries because he’s a wimp.” Well guess what? THAT’S NOT WHAT EMO IS. Emo=Emotional. Yes, if you were wondering, I am emotional. And yes, I do get depressed a lot. And I like emo music (its good music, wtf?) But I don’t like to be called emo, or scene, or Goth, or whatever. I may not show it, and I may agree with you on it when you call me it, but it pisses me off. Big time.
I once took a personality test. Out of 100, I got an 70 in the emotional category. The average for a 15 year old guy like me is 50. Give or take 5. I also got an 82 in the creativity/intuitive category, and I'm 82% introverted. And 77% Perceiving instead of judging.
So please don’t call me emo. Because I really am “emo.” But I don’t like to be called it. People always think I'm weird when they hear that pertaining to me. And it hurts. So Don’t. Do. It.
The Devil still plumbs the abysses
But girls know his serpent just hisses
If you really care
Let Eve tell you where
She pisses she misses French kisses!
"All men and woman created by you know, you know the thing"
You know... the thing from which it actually states "all men are created equal."
You know... the thing from which "we hold these truths to be self-evident."
You know... the thing from which "that they are endowed by their Creator."
You know... the thing for which blood was shed and we died for "with
certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
You know.. the thing where it says "That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."
And you know... where the thing also says "That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government"
You know... the thing... the thing.
The thing that established what you swore an oath to defend... the thing.
The thing for which oceans bled red on foreign shores to remove flags of red like fascism, communism, and imperialism... the thing.
The thing called blood, that soaked dirt so through and through, that it created mud that stained our sons and daughters so deep that it penetrated their mind and soul with PTSD... the thing.
The thing...
Yes, that thing...
That thing we call God
That thing we call Country
That thing we call Family
That thing we call FREEDOM
Yes, that thing.
That thing we take so much for granted.
That thing that we should hold so dear, that for which we would die.
That thing that we should love so much, that we would send our sons and daughter to die to defend.
Yes! That thing.
That thing that pisses us off, that you would elect a person who would simply call it "the thing," you know... "the thing."
Yes! That thing... that thing, Americans care about.
---
JOE BIDEN FLUBS DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE AND GETS BELLIGERENT: ‘YOU KNOW THE THING!’ 3/2/2020
Poem by Martin Braun, 3/4/2020
If I could back and
assassinate Plato
I would
No joke
if only the Time Machine
was scripture and H.G.Wells
was a prophet
I could go back and
assassinate Plato
I one time you want Sci Fi
to cease being fiction
is only for selfish reasons
never do we say: "Hot damn
bring on War of the Worlds!"
why do I want to assassinate
Plato?
cuz Plato pisses me off
his arrogant ass assumed he
was right
people like that deserve to be
taken out of their misery
But
then again
maybe
just maybe
no joke
I'm wrong
wrong about Plato deserving death
wrong about Plato not mattering
maybe I'm wasting to much
time on him
maybe that actually means something
maybe
just maybe
no joke
Plato DOES matter
Plato DOES amount to something
keep this to yourself
don't tell anyone
you'll hurt my ego and pride
if you tell anyone
maybe
just maybe, not joke
I'll..........well you know
Gabriel
Enter! Step across the threshold
unto a haunted house.
There’s tricky, tricky vermin here,
ssshhh ! Tread carefully like a mouse.
Heathens satyrs ,
bragging lazy waiters,
filthy filthy rats, large red cats.
A bully or two drunk through and through.
But mark me now all these pirates
twould bow down and fall,
begging in front of one
who rules ‘em all.
Gabriel !
A prince in reality
Oh mighty, mighty jester,
searching for a flea.
How the ghosts all about
do sit up and stare
if little Gabriel changes unto a bear,
and in a merry muddle
pisses straight unto a puddle .
Then to ride upon his mare of steel
to some fair isle that isn’t real.
All the maids do love him
cause he dances like a stoat
He’s three feet tall,
six years no more, master of all
So in this haunted house,
sssshhh! Tread carefully like a mouse.
Beauty with you I cry,
with you I am not afraid to live or die.
I don’t resent your mystery,
you are so perfect to me.
But the Creator pisses me off,
makes me want to scream,
“Come out come out wherever you are.”
Blind faith… for Christ sake, I want to see.
Braille in spirit gets tiresome.
Go away you Big Bully
let me lay my head down
in the lap of Beauty.
Whatever you do don’t bother me
until you want to show me your face.
.
Palpable
fear lurks
a mystery
in the Air
a certain
eerie feel
suspects
an killers
can come
anywhere
The strike
is invisible
no tools or
weapon no
no trace no
fngerprints
It’s in thin air
creeps ..
shudder... horror
Now everyone wears masks
All are Suspects All are Culpable
Three new cases in the neighborhood
Death comes slow. is inevitable. No cure
Norms have changed. Hiding face is civil
Cannot trust None. Keep Social Distancing
At least two arms length. Barriers are drawn
Police Judiciary Governments are all clueless
Doctors Nurses collapsing on desk ...Helpless
Cut off all people from people or All Are DEAD
SURE. There is no cure. Prevent, escape, delay
Every breath- A killer rests...................bottled
What did I just inhale ? ..........................broken
...................................................................m
You will not even know ....................................e
Till a laser on forehead ....................................n
.
The city never sleeps............................a
byline, we were told ...........................tiny
a happening place.............................prayer
young in sinews ...............................of hope
a big bucket list...............................kindles in
so much to fulfill .............................good faith
before we kicked.............................in the belief
nothing be missed...........................that the earth
Buy whatever sold............................will hear us heal
exclude deep sleep............................itself. Eventually
rest can be delivered............................Good prevails.
In your home cave now.............................Amen !
time to reflect recover. recoup
.
Amitabh feels the world is not going to be the same again.
Now...
Yoga gurus have shut their shop . All ashrams are closed.
We are told to meditate from home take online classes
Sit in lotus pose. Padmasana. and pray..Pisses me off
None has the balls to defy curfew...all bars closed
Sportsmen...gym goers...flexing biceps...men !!
The only party in town ...hold your breath..
are for drinking of Cow urine...YES.
They say it is a cure.
Raise a toast to - GauMutra
All are invited ! At least they are showing some balls .
x number of hours from
a to b, and while certainly it can always be worse,
it could always be better---
the fact remains that there are mother****ers in the cities
who don’t have to get up early & jump in their cars
to get on the freeway & haul ass
while dealing with the frustrations of every moron that was able to get a driver’s license,
there are people in the cities who walk to work,
who hail a cab &
yes, though there are those that stuff themselves into a small tin box in a
sequence of small tin boxes &
glide slowly in the heat, underground, stopping every 100 feet or so…
the commute doesn’t warrant such thoughts that might illuminate the commute itself.
the commute is time spent in a personal cell
drifting above the asphalt, pondering all the happenings of the day before,
of the night before,
witnessing the weather, whatever it might be,
treating you like its own little pet teddy bear
to throw around in its teeth,
like a dog that just got out of the pound
getting that first real bone again
grrrrrrrrrrrrr---
and the morning coffee on the way
just doesn’t do it,
and the donut or the bagel or the cigarette or the hashish
just doesn’t do it---
it seems no matter what can be done in that time spent in the car,
the commute steals time that could’ve been spent elsewhere.
might think that it is the 21st century &
the fact that they don’t have flying cars or the ability to “beam me up, scotty,”
just pisses the **** out of you,
might think that oral sex would improve the ride if you had cruise control,
sure,
might think that this routine is
killing you, and that the commute itself represents the inability to make what you really want in life to be your own, quicker---
might think that today is the day to step on the gas, make a quick withdrawal at the bank &
turn your back on all that was,
making only room for what lies ahead.